


Shit Disturbers

by Ayes



Category: Twilight RPF
Genre: Break Up, Co-workers, F/M, Marijuana, POV First Person, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 02:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayes/pseuds/Ayes
Summary: Whenever someone says something like "it's so big" or "can that fit there?" I always look over at Rob, but he never says "that's what she said." and I'm disappointed. I guess he's not really a bad boy like I like to pretend. I guess he didn't seduce me, like I tell myself.





	Shit Disturbers

"I hate everyone." Rob flopped onto the couch next to me, landing on my script and squashing the pages back. I could see them under his ass, and I cringed inwardly, but decided to bite.  
  
"Everyone who?" He'd seemed to love everyone ever since we'd arrived on location, and as I got to know him I had a general idea of him as a happy guy. Not someone who hated everyone. And yet...  
  
"Everyone everyone!" Rob frowned and reached under him, pulling out my ruined scene. "Oh, sorry, spidermonkey."  
  
I snorted. Ever since that table read when he'd come up with 'spidermonkey' he'd ocassionally bring it out. "Why do you hate everyone?"  
  
"I just... it's their accents. Too American. Every time someone says my name it sounds different and I remember I'm in a different country."  
  
"Oh." The great Pattinson, homesick? I wondered why he was telling me, but maybe he felt like we should bond. Catherine had been shoving us together, but this was the first time he'd ever really sought me out. Still, I wasn't going to fucking melt over it, and instead I pointed out that _I_ was American.  
  
He shrugged. "Your voice is different."  
  
I smoke him out.  
  
****  
  
We were reading lines when I remembered that it was Michael's birthday and threw my water against the wall.  
  
Rob said, what the hell was that for, so I told him that I was the world's worst girlfriend and that's the first time that Rob pulls my hair and doesn't mean it, the beginning of a long line of ponytail tugs.  
  
It's not that I forgot when Michael's birthday was entirely, I sent him a nice card and jacket and some dirty pictures three days ago, but we've spent the entire week filming school scenes and repeating my lines and actions over and over mean I've kind of lost track of the days of the week.  
  
Robert helps me write some things to say, so that when I call Michael it's scripted and he nods when I make my voice break on "I called you as _soon_ as I could."  
  
Acting.  
  
My phone call isn't too long, it's nighttime and he's out with his friends already. So when I hang up Rob offers to go to the liquor store and buy some gin, he says it's a rule to get drunk on someone's birthday.  
  
"Everyday is someone's birthday," I snipe, but I get up to make sure I still have tonic water in the humming fridge.  
  
****  
  
There's an interviewer from England and they argue over some sports team while his eyes light up and I think, can't she see how greasy his hair is?  
  
But I can pretend it isn't jealousy when he slips his arm around my shoulders and tells me I'm too skinny on the way home.  
  
I've started watching TV at his place, because he got a big one even though he reads more than watches it. It kind of pissed me off, so it's _my_ TV now, and I watch Gilmore Girls reruns because I don't care what he thinks.  
  
"I've been thinking," he says out of nowhere, and I want to say something like, so what, or shut up, because I'm eyeing Milo Ventasomething and wondering if it's weird to date all your costars.  
  
"What?" I turn around to see him, and he's actually put his book down. It's raining outside, steadily. I miss the bright sun of the Valley, the dry beauty of Stunt Road and Topanga Canyon, the way that I didn't used to have to burrow under blankets or steal Rob's jacket in between takes.  
  
"I should get a girlfriend." He looks pretty serious, maybe earnest, and I don't know how he reached that conclusion through Baudelaire or if it's because Milo and Alexis are making out now. But I make the assumption it's the making out, not the philosophy.  
  
"You don't need a girlfriend." I flip channels to the news. Weather forecast: grey.  
  
"Yes, I do," he insists. "I can't have a one night stand selling their story. But there's no one for me to date."  
  
"Ashley's pretty." I don't want him to date Ashley.  
  
"I don't want to date Ashley." He picks up his book again, like he never said anything in the first place. Sometimes Rob is such a freak.  
  
We smoke again later, and he watches reality TV with me, laughing at all the trashiest parts the way that I do. He doesn't bring up women again, and I may have a boyfriend, but I'm fucking relieved.  
  
****  
  
I guess I know better than to see what Jackson and Robert are giggling over online, but I look anyway.  
  
We're at Jackson's, and Ashley's in the kitchen pouring shots with Nikki. It's another night out for all of us, and I'm excited to meet everyone at whatever divey bar they think'll let me in.  
  
"What the fuck is that?" I stick my fingers in my hair and pull it over my eyes, pretending I'm horrified by the porn they're watching.  
  
"It's like a sex machine," Jackson explains, blushing but still grinning too. "It's a fucking machine!"  
  
"Like me," Robert adds, and they crack up again, leaning on each other as Jackson wheezes and Rob turns red and squinty.  
  
****  
  
Bella's a real bitch sometimes. There are gravel scrapes on my palm from Edward knocking her over to stop the van, and I hope my double didn't get her hands scraped up even worse.  
  
Rob is making eggs because he broke my cell phone when he borrowed it all drunk last night, and now he's my slave for a week. At least, that's what he promised, but I know he's got a lot of choreography starting  tomorrow, and I think all I'm going to get for my expensive-ass Blackberry is eggs and toast.  
  
When he sets french toast in front of me, and perfectly poached eggs, with a napkin in his pocket, how _cute_ , I'm surprised. Because who knew this hobo could cook?  
  
I pretend that's why I'm smiling so wide.  
  
We play video games after breakfast, and it's so innocent and I'm so full that all day goes by so quickly he ends up staying for dinner, and until the end of a movie after that.  
  
The door to my bedroom stays closed all night, and we both knew it was there the whole time. But he's busy for three days and when I see him again his eyes are gold and not blue.  
  
****  
  
On set I'm a bitch with my mouth in a line, because it's nine fucking AM and I've managed to be made up and blown out for two damn hours already without being allowed to find some coffee.  
  
I see Rob across the costumes trailer when I go to pick out a jacket to combat the cool grey morning, and he looks even more tired than me. Good.  
  
We go and smoke a joint during the beginning of our lunch break, him packing it quickly from a receipt I found crumpled in my wallet. I dug through my purse for a lighter and we panicked when I couldn't find it, but then he found one, in his _jeans_ , and I'd say something about how "finding" things in your pockets shouldn't be a big shocker, but he honestly seems surprised to find it.  
  
We do good work in the hospital scene later, and Catherine is happy. I'm actually in a great mood about the way my practice paid off, and when the take is cut, Catherine says she's proud of me and Rob proposes, laughing when I blush. Overdramatic asshole.  
  
****  
  
The first time we have sex is after a day that the rain ruined everything.  
  
Catherine is pissed, her old soul's face drawn and angry, but she makes a joke about how they deserve this Forks authenticity, and everyone goes home to wait for a flood.  
  
"Fuck today." Robert sounds gloomy and I remember he's done this before. It makes sense that he's dramatic.  
  
"It's not so bad, it's a day off."  
  
Rob looks doubtful though, and since the day's over he can push his fingers through Edward's perfect coif, tangling it in a way that's hypnotizing and kind of weird. I'm saying "Come back with me," in such a forced way that it sounds like I don't mean it. So I rub my nose and try smiling, and he falls for it.  
  
It was probably inevitable that we'd get here, by _here_ I mean the front hall and it's so awkward. The door is still open, and the pizza guy driving away, and I half-turned to put it behind me on the table, but he caught my wrist and kissed me, and I'm holding the pizza at a weird angle I'm kind of worried about it even while he wiggles his fucking tongue.  
  
He sinks into me on the couch once our clothes are off. I don't even care how I look with my pants down and a blushing patch on my chest because he fucks me for the first time so hard I see stars and shit.  
  
We ate pizza naked and standing up in the kitchen, slices of pepperoni, and avoid talking until he accidentally bumps my arm. We froze for a second, and then he got way too close to me, breath warm and hands clammy from sweat still, naked and eyelashes dark. I'm not embarrassed to say we fucked again, this time until the rest of our pizza was cold and needed reheating.  
  
****  
  
Nothing's different on set the next day, but the day after that I suck him off in his trailer, kneeling so that no one can see two shadows in the window. I don't know if this'll keep going or what I want but when Rob comes I spit it on his shoe and then die laughing at his face.  
  
Everyone goes out for Mexican  four days later, and I'm trying to eat more quesadillas than Nikki, guacamole-face be damned. Rob and Cam are getting drunk at the bar, continuing some conversation they started earlier about their careers or shaving their balls or whatever guys talk about. I don't look over at him until I can smell tequila and nacho-breath and he whispers something in my ear.  
  
"I lover you."  
  
"You lover me?" I say it back, amused, and he lowers his voice even further, drunkenly serious.  
  
"Yeah, it's like when you don't love someone, but you're fucking." I spit ice tea laughing, and when Nikki asks what's so funny he says, "How bad you're gonna lose," and joins us in our contest.  
  
****  
  
Rob's dick is so hard I'm scared it's gonna knock my teeth out when I give him head sometimes, so I demanded my own attention fast, and he's gentlemanly enough to comply. I'm kind of addicted to Rob's hands, I don't know what it is, but when he fingers me I want it to last forever.  
  
His tongue works its way between his long fingers but it isn't what I want after a few minutes, I want him to fuck me.  
  
It's the first time on his bed, and it's softer than my couch or his trailer. I'm sure I'd be too distracted to notice but he's pounding me into it and I'm glad I'm not about to bruise. I beg for his fingers too, and he does something hard to my clit that made me cuss.  
  
It's too much already and we just started, so I shake my head and twist under him, making him groan and put his hand back by my neck, bracing himself as he thrusts.  
  
I was bent in half and having trouble breathing, but I could smell myself on his hands and I turned my head to lick his fingers. He groaned my name and stuck two fingers in my mouth, pushing on my tongue and robbing me of even more oxygen. But how could I care, with his face so pink and his eyes so focused? "Fuck," he says, staring at me and I stare back, at his shining face.  
  
I'm learning more than I want to about the way he breathes and how the front of his thighs contract against the backs of my thighs when he's pressed tight against me, and I don't think I'll ever be able to see him again without knowing that his eyes can get so flat and feral and grey.  
  
"I'm gonna come, spidermonkey," he gasps, and I try to frown at him but I come instead.  
  
****  
  
Whenever someone says something like "it's so big" or "can that fit there?" I always look over at Rob, but he never says "that's what she said." and I'm disappointed. I guess he's not really a bad boy like I like to pretend. I guess he didn't seduce me, like I tell myself.  
  
In the daylight, I wait for him to be bad, an adulterer from the other side of the ocean, but he's charming and everyone loves him, he makes me look stupid when I underestimate him these days. His interviews are better, he handles the TwiMoms better, and one day he brings me huge red poppies that are crowding out of his fist.  
  
They die pretty fast, and I try to make myself find symbolism in that, but it feels fake. It's not like I wanted him to bring me fake flowers. It's not like I asked for flowers at all.  
  
****  
  
Michael comes to visit.  
  
I tell Rob when we're really high, and he kind of doesn't say anything. I think it's because he doesn't care, but I can't tell. His hair brushes against my stomach and the bottom of my breasts when he kisses my ribs. I'm wearing his Van Morrison shirt and it makes him look at me differently. It's weird, so I push on the top of his head to make him go _down_ , and of course he complies.  
  
Michael arrives on a Tuesday that the sun is out, and when he emerges at baggage claim I find I'm pretty damn happy to see him.  
  
He tells me what his family's doing and how someone recognized him the other day (I want to say _big deal_ but I don't.). I offer him a joint in the car, but he passes. "I don't want to smell when I meet everyone," he says, and I realize that he has to meet everyone. It's the middle of the day, he'll stay for the rest of the filming, and then we'll go back to my place.  
  
It's easier than I thought though, everyone knows who he is and Catherine's met him already. Nikki and Michael get along great, but Rob stays with Kellan between takes. Maybe he's giving us space so things aren't weird, maybe he really doesn't care.  
  
Michael and I go out to dinner, and it's romantic, but our conversation feels like an interview, the give and take unnatural somehow. But it's Michael and I love him and we end up making out at red lights on the way home.  
  
****  
  
I'm so glad I took the time to clean up as I open my front door and flip the switch. He follows me in, hands going to my waist. I remember holding the pizza when Rob kissed me, but push the thought away even though my wrist aches. This is the place, this is the time, but this isn't Rob anymore. It's not hard to moan when Michael attacks my neck; I've always loved sex with Michael, and when he stops I'm definitely pissed.  
  
"What's wrong?" I ask, impatient, and he points behind me.  
  
There's a cutout of Rob, some promotional Hot Topic crap, and it's blocking the way to the bedroom. It's wearing a pair of my panties on its head, and I crack the fuck up when I see it. Even Michael smiles, although I can tell he's pissed that someone was in here and in my underwear drawer.  
  
"Kellan must have had my extra key still," I lie, and Michael moves the cutout away. Too late, I realize that the panties aren't from my drawer, but had been left in Rob's car. I don't think Michael could figure that out, though, so I just tap him on the shoulder. and ask, "Where were we?"  
  
He's feeling grimy from set and the plane, so he goes to take a shower, and I promise to join him once he's mostly clean. I move the cutout to my couch, lay it down there, and cover Rob's Edwardy face with a pillow.  
  
There's a note on the table, and it says "I hate everything." Rob's moods again. I shouldn't hesitate and then pick up my phone, but I do. And he picks up before I can change my mind.  
  
"Bella, my life."  
  
"Rob, what do you want?"  
  
"I don't know. Nothing, I guess, Kris. I just-- fuck, I dunno. Forget it." I remember what he told me about being homesick, so long ago, and sigh. It's not fair that my boyfriend can come visit and bring the feeling of home, when Rob has to be so far from everything he knows and drive on a different side of the street.  
  
"I'm coming over." He agrees so quickly that I almost feel used, but I've know he's selfish for a while. Maybe it's a power game, Michael versus Rob, but I'm pretty sure I decide who wins that.  
  
I go tell Michael that there was an emergency rewrite, and he should sleep. He's not too upset, because I can see how tired he is, how uncomfortable he's holding himself in one of my towels.  
  
****  
  
Robert opens the door for me and I walk under his arm without ducking, spinning around in his living room so I can face him. His guitar is behind me, leaning against the couch. "You're an asshole." I've had time to get mad on the way over.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Why aren't you sorry? I was with my boyfriend! He just fucking came in, Rob! I want to see him!"  
  
"So why are you here?" He sounds curious, not mean, but it's a mean thing to say. We don't talk about our weird attraction. We lover each other, and that's it. I glare at him and knock over his guitar. It makes a really awful noise, and he winces, but doesn't go check on it.  
  
He moves out of the doorframe, leaving the front door open a bit, and I keep one eye on it so I can escape. I let him walk up to me, and he stands a foot away to tell me something I would have heard from across the room. "I'm sorry."  
  
"What?" He shrugged but I'm honestly unsure why he's apologizing, it doesn't seem like he cared about making me come over.  
  
"I'm sorry I've been... passive aggressive or whatever."  
  
"Yeah, okay."  
  
"No, really!" He drags his fingers through his hair, back to front so it sticks out weirdly. "I just, I want your attention."  
  
Obviously he needs a lot of attention, I want to say, but I can't be flippant about what he just said. It feels like a confession, and I don't really know if I'm ready for it. To hear it. So I walk away from him, out to my car. I don't know how I feel about Rob but I have a feeling that when I figure it out, everything will be ruined.  
  
Or maybe it'll all be ruined  tonight, I can see it in the shadows on his face when he follows me outside. He's in pajama pants and some blue t-shirt that's a little too big but I know that it's soft. He's always softer than he looks.  
  
"Wait, Kristen. Stay here."  
  
"Why?" I throw the question at him and cross my arms. The sky is weirdly light, purpley, and I tear my eyes from it to see the same color under his eyes. He looks tired. I _feel_ tired.  
  
And even though Michael's waiting for me I stay.  
  
****  
  
Everything goes great and I'd leave it at that but this is my life and that means I fucked it up.  
  
Michael came back to apologise for how we were leaving things, after the breakup, before his flight home. And that's when he found Rob fucking me in the kitchen, after Rob's friendly comforting turned into greed. He screams, yells, says what the fuck do I think i'm doing, and it turns out I'm dumb enough to say rehearsing.  
  
When Michael storms out of my life for the second time that day, Rob laughs. it's deep in his belly and he's still inside me and he's so damn rude that I laugh too, feeling like the worst person in the world, and also maybe the happiest.  
  
****  
  
Rob wakes me up at  five-thirty in the morning after we've fallen asleep naked and hopeful. "Hey," he says, poking me at regular intervals. "Hey. Hey Kris."  
  
I hate it when he calls me that, no one's ever called me that because I've always introduced myself as Kristen. But my thighs are sore and I can see where I scratched his shoulder so I wake up. "What."  
  
"Let's go fuck up Dakota Fanning's trailer."  
  
It's so fucking ridiculous to be woken up by your new maybe-boyfriend at an ungodly hour to pull a prank on some fifteen year old household name. This kind of stuff just doesn't happen.  
  
It does in Rob's world, though, I know he'll say that or something else lame if I protest, so I kiss him once and then go brush my teeth.  
  
The next day everyone calls us shit disturbers and Dakota takes it all in stride, but has to replace almost all of her furniture. Everyone knew it was us because of our black hoodies and my bleary, makeup free eyes, Rob's shit-eating grin like a kid who's gotten away with something.  
  
"We're going to get in trouble," I hiss to him in the line at Craft Service. He reaches behind him without looking at me, squeezes my thigh.  
  
I didn't expect him to turn around to look at me, so my hopes aren't crushed or anything. No one knows what happened with Michael. I bite back a sigh and put some Red Vines on my plate.  
  
Robert surprises me when he actually speaks. "I think we can handle a slap on the wrist, Kristen."  
  
"They all know it was you," I argue. "And it's going to be hard to do it again!"  
  
"It wasn't just me!"  
  
"Well, it was your idea!"  
  
He laughs. "Everyone's just gonna have to get used to us."  
  
****  
  
So we're tentatively together, but it's not really like having a boyfriend. It's the same. There isn't any time we aren't together anyway, so when he plants a kiss on my forehead or almost drowns trying to go down on me in the bathtub, it feels like the same that we've always been.  
  
We do a press junket thing that he actually dresses up to, and I'm wearing a dress that he made me buy because it's his favorite color.  
  
I keep an arm draped around him, playing with his hair, not even caring how it looks because this is us, has always been us. Rob is telling a funny story about how he gets his inspiration from Tom, from the American accent Tom puts on when they're drunk together, but of course someone in the crowd presses Rob for a headline.  
  
"Have you ever fought with one of your friends over a girl?" they ask, and he shakes his head. They ask me.  
  
"No, I've never fought over a guy. I don't know. It's not worth it. Like this one time, okay, I was like eight and I stole something from the mall and it was so dumb, but uh, I figured out that it wasn't worth it when I saw how much trouble that caused. And now I know it was wrong, or whatever... but it's too much trouble to fight over a guy."  
  
My answer has nothing to do with Rob, it's just an answer, an anecdote. I know that when they ask Robert if he's ever shoplifted that they're just fishing for gossip now.  
  
He fucking gives it to them, though, tugging on my braided hair like I hate. "She's the only thing I've ever stolen," he declares and I glare (of course he wouldn't ask if I minded being outed) while the crowd erupts in confusion.  
  
They figure it out when he sticks his tongue in my mouth.  
  
****  
  
A month later we sit in Catherine's backyard with Nikki, going through press clippings with bullshit quotes. Robert and I aren't left alone too often in Catherine's house, but I think they know there's no danger of him fingering me outside, unlike in the unlocked bathroom at her last dinner party.  
  
I wet my finger to flip a page, bored. I'm just reading now. The celebrity gossip is too old to be interesting, but I'm reading something about TrimSpa when I hear Rob cough a little.  
  
"Oh," he said, out of nowhere.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Oh," he said again, louder, and grinned.  
  
"What is it, dickhead?" I set my magazine down. If he was going to say something annoying, I wanted to be able to hit him.  
  
"You love me," he pronounced, like he had just figured everything out.  
  
What the fuck? I mean, of course I'd loved Rob for a while now. I couldn't help it. But things were good and I'd buried the three words down, with a "Do Not Open Till Christmas" tag on it, or something gay. I wasn't even sure if I really was in love with him. I just liked being around him, all the time, and having sex everywhere and pulling pranks on the werewolves, and not having to hide it if he grabbed my hand. "No I don't."  
  
"You do, you love me," he insisted, and grinned. It looked a bit manic. "Fantastic!"  
  
"I don't, I..." Uh, fuck. I grasped about in my brain and came up with a good defense. "I _lover_ you."  
  
"You don't, spidermonkey," he said standing suddenly and leaning over, magazine rolled in his hand and his hot breath in my face. "But it's okay."  
  
****  
  
Things just kind of click into place after that. My mom calls and tells me she's proud I made an adult decision, whatever that means, and then she tells me all about my little sister's fender bender while I watch my Adult Decision eat Cap'n Crunch for dinner.  
  
It's still weird to say I love you back and forth so we kind of don't. He tells me during sex a lot, though, his hands clasped around my face like my ankles are locked and resting on his back. That's when I love him the most, too; when I see him like almost no one in the world ever has, with sex-black eyes and sweat on his nose. He still pisses me off more than anyone, but he pushes everyone's buttons like a fucking robot mechanic or something, he loves doing it.  
  
****  
  
It's a hot, dry afternoon in Burbank. I've just finished doing voiceovers for some of Eclipse's fight scenes, and my throat's a bit raw from panicked screaming.  
  
There's a nondescript rental car waiting for me outside the studios, and Robert gets out with iced coffee. Two pumps of white mocha. He may be my fucking hero, but I'm pretty sure I shouldn't tell him that. He slips an arm around me, kisses my head, and the way that he has to bend a little bit fucking eats me. We've been together now for a long time. We broke up as many times as we declared our love for each other, but this time things are pretty good.  
  
"There are photographers waiting outside," he murmurs, sensing I don't feel like testing my throat yet. "I'm sorry, do you want to go out the back?"  
  
"Naw," I said finally, smiling. Normally I hate having random pictures taken, hate the fact that my privacy is stripped whenever they can figure out where I am. I'm still not over the fact that they've caught me smoking and seen Rob grab my ass and ugh. But today I'm not thinking about any of that stuff, just that I'm holding hands with my boyfriend and I'd really love to get a picture of that.  
  
It's different being with Rob when we aren't really working together. It's like playing at being adults, with apartments and rental cars and reading scripts at the kitchen table. I like it, but I like everything about us these days. I feel a little like I'm high, away from the wet of Forks and the days when I wasn't sure Rob could be trusted.  
  
Rob looks like he's actually high, though, so I hand him my sunglasses and he balances them on his nose, humming. "You know, love," he says, as we get back in the car and he cruises slowly through the photographers at the gate, letting them get close to the closed windows and actually smiling. "I need to get married to become a citizen."  
  
"Don't start that crap," I say, shutting my eyes and leaning back in my seat. "They check if those things are real."  
  
"Why wouldn't it be?" He pretends to sound hurt, but I know he's just trying to avoid all the paperwork he has in the back of the car. It's so he can move in with me, actually. He already lives there, but needs some working permit or whatever so that he can get on the lease. It feels big.  
  
It feels good. And we're on the road now, turning down the ramp back to the 101, free from photos or work for the rest of the day. "Let's paint the bathroom today," I say, and when he nods I can't stop staring at his profile. My boyfriend. I've never felt the way I feel in quiet moments like this before. Just--full, of love or whatever. I guess I got myself into it. I don't much feel like getting out.  
  
"Try not to swerve," I add. "Or speed."  
  
"Woman, I know how to drive," he sniffs. "Even if it is on the wrong side of the bloody--" well, what do you know. You _can_ shut Robert Pattinson up, if you unzip his pants in traffic.


End file.
